


I'll always be here with you behind closed eyes

by SiriusNebulae



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (for once!), Domestic, Domestic Fluff, EDIT: I changed the summary a bit, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Former Priest Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt/Comfort, Islam, M/M, Muslim Character, Muslim Yusuf, Muslim!Yusuf, Mutual Pining, Nicolo loses his faith, Salma and Lutfi (and cat Ajmal)!, Scholar Yusuf, The Crusades, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, War, You WILL take this love Nicolo omg, You do not choose who loves you, Yusuf practices Islam and his faith never waivers!, death (immortal and non-), mutually requited love, religious angst (Nicolo), suicidal ideation (Nicolo) for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriusNebulae/pseuds/SiriusNebulae
Summary: "One day, they had chosen to converse only in Persian, and were walking along the coast in the late evening, enjoying the breeze and stars coming out. They had just come from sunset prayers, Nicolo waiting outside while Yusuf had been inside. After praying, Yusuf was always more contemplative and grounded, and they each happily kept to their own thoughts, content with being at each other's sides."Muslim!Yusuf and LostFaith!Nicolo after the war, falling in love
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 45
Kudos: 314





	1. Meetings Across Battlefields

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ['Til I'm swept up by the shape of all the centuries](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243771) by [SiriusNebulae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriusNebulae/pseuds/SiriusNebulae). 



> I wanted to write a fic where Yusuf kept his faith and Nicolo did not (even beyond his normal religious crisis). Yusuf is Muslim and practices Islam in this fic, and Nicolo is garden variety Christian/Catholic.  
> I'm do not practice Islam or Christianity, and did research and had betas for this work. If you see anything wrong, feel free to let me know! :)

Yusuf woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in an attempt to escape the dreams that plagued him. That plagued him every night and caused him to wake up in a cold sweat, lips forming an unknown name as if waiting to be spoken aloud. A white man with the greenest eyes he had ever seen, that felt like his soul being seen, like he was worth looking at that way.

He shook his head, planting his feet on the dirt floor and standing quietly, trying not to rest those who slept near him. In the distance, past the rows of tents and people sleeping on the ground in huddles around embers, he could see the look outs and others unable to sleep, their fires lighting up larger swaths of the land before them. They had been traveling for days, skirmishes and battles breaking out over and over, and at this point they would take what they could get when they could. 

If not for the dreams of a sharp blade and a gentle smile, Yusuf would be sleeping soundly like the rest of his brothers. If not for the feeling of emptiness and loss when waking, he would be as focused as his fellow soldiers readying for battle. The real issue with the man from his dreams, was that he wore the clothes of the enemy, the other side. Who he was meant to be _fighting._ Why was he dreaming of this man? This other side of the battlefield? 

Yusuf knew that the battles were confusing and complex in ways he couldn't understand. That the people he was fighting were those who refused to form alliances and treaties, who chose to invade their sacred land and cities out of a misplaced idea of ownership and reclamation. What did these people know of their land? Of their culture, their cities, their history? Those who chose to form alliances, live among them, who chose to learn from them were the only ones he could understand. He had no kindness or empathy for those who fought them instead.

What troubled him most was that the green eyed man he dreamed about, who made him feel whole in dreams and yet bereft in waking, was one of those who fought. How could a man with such a gentle air about him do that?

Dawn broke over the horizon, and Yusuf was pulled from his thoughts. The mu’azzin had begun the call to prayer, and Yusuf shoved all thoughts of the man from his dreams aside.

* * *

Nicolo was distracted. His sleep was filled by one man, this one beautiful man with a serious face and a roguish smile. Never mind that he was on the other side of this war, Nicolo didn't care about that. He knew that elsewhere, both sides had formed many alliances and allegiances, coexisted happily together. How he had ended up here, fighting, was beyond him. 

Some nights, before falling asleep, he would ask God why this was happening. Why were they invading in the name of redemption and forgiveness from sins? How did fighting a war in the name of God, destroying peoples lives and homes, /land/, bring about a better world, the messiah? Though he had these questions, he kept his mouth shut. Though he had become a priest because he believed in the beauty of people and doing what was right, he had not imagined ever doing this. 

No matter who this man was, who invaded his dreams so easily, they were now linked. He had faith that they would meet soon, meet face to face. Was he supposed to kill him? Or was he supposed to not kill him? Surely, God had granted him these visions for a reason, yes? Does this mean the man in his dreams is more important than this war?

But thinking like that was heresy. 

Nicolo would have to wait until they met. He didn't know when it would happen, he only had the bone-deep certainty that it would happen in its own time. Just like all things do.

* * *

Yusuf's world was narrowed down to the movements of his sword and his body, the feel of the sword going into a body, sliding back out with a rush of blood, and the sweat and grit that stung his face. Blood coated the ground beneath his feet, turning the sand dark and difficult to navigate. 

Bodies were everywhere, strewn about without a care, bodies of each side laying together where they had fallen. Those he had been fighting alongside and against were now at his feet, already feeling far away. 

Sweat ran into his eyes, but he knew he couldn't pause to wipe it away. One pause and he would be among his fallen, among the listless dead that covered everything he could see. He dodged a passing sword swing, focusing on fighting his opponent. Though the man was bigger, he was unskilled with his blade, and Yusuf would've grinned if able to spare the focus. 

He parried a thrust meant to skewer him, stepping forward with a forceful arching swing, slitting the man's throat. Blood poured from his neck, and Yusuf barely spared the energy watching the corpse fall to his knees. 

To kill in battle, while protecting people and in self-defense, was understood and not unforgivable in regards to his faith. Yet, he was unsure if they were forgivable to him. Though he knew his actions did not need to be forgiven, he continued to pray for forgiveness and guidance. He was not like those across from him, those who came to a land not their own to conquer and kill in the name of their God. His relation to Allah was his alone, and did not necessitate such dishonorable actions. Yet, he worried that he would not be forgiven in his own mind, even if it was killing in the name of defense and protection.

Yusuf was already turning to join the fray once more, when he looked past the numerous people battling, past the dust and sunlight beating down upon them, and saw a person standing frozen.

The green eyed man from his dreams. He's shocked still, frozen in place as they locked gazes, opposite a battlefield and yet focused solely on each other.

* * *

_The man of my dreams._

Nicolo could scarcely breathe, could barely think beyond the need to get to this man. Even as they gazed at each other, he knew they would have to move soon, would have to join the fight again or be killed where they stood, any hope of meeting dashed away with one swing of a sword. 

His only chance was to fight his way over. Breaking eye contact, he threw himself back into the fight, his blade meeting others confidently, renewed by the goal of getting to this man. Towards where his dreams had been leading him for weeks. 

Deep inside himself, away from his guilt and religious doubts, he knew this man would be more important to him than this sham of a war, this deadly farce he had found himself in. Somehow, this felt more important than anything in his life so far. 

* * *

Yusuf was forced to look away from the green eyed man by the sudden appearance of a sword swinging towards his head quickly. Barely getting his sword up in time, he thoughts were split between what he had just seen and the need to stay alive at all costs. 

The man had stopped and looked at him as if he too was familiar. As if they knew each other as more than strangers passing in a moment. 

He stumbled over a body at his feet, distractedly fighting with his opponent. He would not say fighting was easy, but those he fought were not trained, did not have the same skills as he did. Exhaustion and hunger were constant companions to him, and those he knew he could fight easily at his best took more energy and time now. Each time he killed someone new, another would be before him. 

If he hadn't lost sight of the man before, he would have gone after him. If not because he felt drawn towards the man, then because he knew how dangerous he was, knew he had more skills than half this army, and yet did not advance beyond a fighter with the masses. 

But he had lost sight of the man, which was why he was now downing opponents one after other, no end in sight. His muscles burned with the movement of his sword, limbs almost numb with the constant exertion. If he didn't pay attention and stop thinking about the green eyed man, he would be killed easily.

* * *

He was almost there, just a few more people to get through and Nicolo would be in front of the man. His determination to reach his goal was, as most things, tainted by the reality of this war. Each and every day, he could only watch in horror as he became used to what was going on, where he categorized the killing of people he didn't know and had no qualms with as "a few" as if they meant nothing to him. Life and death should never be like this, should matter _more_ than this, this reality in which lives were easily taken and death freely given.

God forgive him, he thought as he killed every man in his way, barely blinking at the lives ending before his eyes or the revolting familiarity of killing blows. If he was to kill this man, the man from his dreams, he would struggle in the aftermath. He would kill him, yes, but he would mourn a life that he knew was just as important as his, a life that had drawn him to this place. If this was God's plan, truly- he would kill this man. He was already burdened by the many lives he had taken, he didn't expect to ever be clean of this.

* * *

Yusuf turned unthinkingly to his next opponent, swords meeting between them before he had the chance to look up. He barely stopped himself from gasping in shock at the man from his dreams, his eyes even greener in person. If he was to survive this battle, he would spend ages looking for that exact color green. If he was to kill this man, he thought, he knew he would never forget him.

The man didn't pause their fighting to allow Yusuf his thoughts. He swung his sword towards Yusuf's side, who spun away before swinging his sword at the man's throat. They fought for a long time, each adept at blocking the other just before the last moment. As if a deadly dance, even as they were trying to kill the other, Yusuf noted that the man's eyes never left his face, a searching look that made him feel unsteady, as if he was something more than he was. 

It was a shame Yusuf would have to kill him, he was very talented at fighting. Yusuf had many shallow cuts and bruises from when he was almost too slow to avoid the blades or fists aimed at him, but the man had the same issue. They were evenly matched, and both of them knew it. Tiring quickly, it became obvious that one of them would have to do something soon.

Sharp pain bloomed in his side, sword cutting a large gash on his side- he would bleed out eventually, but could still hold his sword for a bit longer. He re-adjusted his grip, trying to ignore the pain and focus. He was not going to go down easily, not when he needed to fight these men who came to invade and conquer. If nothing else, he would kill this man before he died. 

He landed a lucky blow, blood spurting from where he had cut deeply into the man's upper thigh as his leg almost gave out. The man did not fall, only stumbled before looking at Yusuf determinedly. It dawned on him that both of them might not make it out of this fight alive. 

Yusuf knew the end was fast approaching, both of them either to die quickly from a killing blow, or slowly from their wounds. He hoped Allah would forgive him, would understand that he was protecting his people and cities, their way of life, from those who sought to murder them in the name a God that was cruel and distant.

The sword came towards his chest before he could react. There wasn't time to dodge, nor block completely, not with his arm weak and dizzy with blood loss. No, all he could do was try and strike the man before he died, and hope that he was able to kill him alongside his own death. He took a deep breath.

* * *

Nicolo couldn't stand the look of acceptance on the man's face when he saw he could not avoid Nicolo's sword. They both knew what was coming, yet the man had more bravery and humility than was expected when faced with death. Something in Nicolo broke at that look, at the certainty embodied. The man he had dreamed of for weeks was always moving, always fiercely alive- this man was almost the opposite. 

He realized that he would be haunted by this man for the rest of his life, no matter the length. This man would remain in his dreams, no longer a vision of what was to come, but a memory of bloodshed and shameful acts. 

He could barely stand it, watching this man who easily accepted Nicolo's blade driving into his chest, flesh parting disgustingly easy. He could not look away, not when he owed this man. Not when he was the one to remove him from this world. He couldn't look away, yet he was weak. 

He was weak and he closed his eyes, turned away from what he had done to someone he felt like he knew, felt connected with. Were they really that different from each other? Nicolo hadn't wanted to fight this war, he did not become a priest for this, this war he was told was God's will. His people had come to this land, come to this divine and great place in order to kill innocent people who had done nothing, who had not done any worse than everyone else in the world. And the man before him was out here to protect that, as a response to what was happening. 

And Nicolo had killed him. 

If he had been having doubts before this moment, it was now when everything cemented. He had quietly doubted many things lately, but believed that God knew what he was doing, that his teachings were true and guiding. But, if this is what came forth from such a God, he didn't recognize Him anymore. This was not Him, not as Nicolo knew.

He didn't expect the searing pain in his chest, taken by surprise with the overwhelming pain suddenly flooding his system. His eyes shot open, and he looked down to see a sword struck through him, almost to the hilt. Bewildered, he could barely follow the sword to see the man of his dreams in front of him, a grim look on his face.

They matched, blades driven into chests in almost the same place. Mirror images of each other.

The other man stared at him, blood everywhere as he fell to the ground. Nicolo barely felt his own fall to the ground, barely aware of laying next to the man. 

To die at each other's hands was poetic, he thought. He turned his head and looked up at the man's face, and he gasped when dark eyes met his. The man smiled. Such a beautiful man, to have smiled and calmly meet his gaze in their final moments. 

“Laa 'iilah 'iilaa allah muhamad rasul allah...” Yusuf’s words trailed off as he went still, and Nicolo felt a pang at the loss of life, by his hands no less. His only comfort was knowing that once he was dead, he would pay for his actions, would have to make up for the awful things he'd done in his ignorance. This last view of a man much stronger and humble than him would serve as a reminder of what to strive for.

* * *

Yusuf groaned quietly, blinking dazedly in the night. The battlefield around him was empty of any life or light, only the shadows of bodies and moonlight reflected in pools of blood. The battle had ended apparently, and still many hours later, everything was an unnaturally still and silent. 

Yusuf groaned again, a small noise in the back of his throat. He was in pain, so much pain it felt like he was still-

Wait. 

He sat up slowly, hands searching over his chest for any sign of being run through with a sword earlier. He could only feel warm, unmarred flesh. There was a hole in his clothes and he was covered in blood-

Yet he was breathing. He was alive.

Almost immediately, he started to gather the clean sand around him. Lacking water, he used the sand to clean himself, needing the familiarity of and strength from praying, especially in light of being suddenly alive again. 

Cleaning himself was familiar, grounded him and forced him to leave all his worries behind. His only focus was on Allah, all other thoughts left alone for now. He found a clean swath of sand nearby, faced toward the Mecca, and kneeled with his head pressed to the ground. 

Yusuf didn't know how long it had been before he leant back onto his knees, hands wiping his face and body to finish his prayers. He felt grounded. Yes, he didn't know what was happening and why Allah had blessed him to live, but he knew that all he was, was as Allah blessed.

A sharp breath made him look over quickly to see the other man gasping awake. The man was frantically running his hands along his body, the same as Yusuf had done. Before he could blink, the man was looking at him in panic, almost like he knew where he was without looking. 

Yusuf stood up quickly, and between one breath and the next, he was running far away, leaving the man behind with a look of fear and abandonment unnoticed by Yusuf.


	2. The Choice of Love

Many months of fighting passed, and Yusuf had grown accustomed to seeing and killing the green eyed man often. Yusuf could not stop fighting and question this man who seemed to live over and over again just like him. He needed to protect people from these invaders who continued to move closer and closer to central cities. 

Even if he was not fighting to protect people's lives, he still could not stop fighting. It was a sin to abandon the battlefield during war, abandon your brothers in need. He continued to pray daily for forgiveness for the necessary killing, even though Allah had nothing to forgive him for. No, what would be unforgivable was him running from battle- searching out the other man, and leaving to try and understand what was happening to them.

He had been blessed to not die, Yusuf believed it was in order for him to keep fighting, to keep protecting people against those that came for them. If others could be spared by Yusuf taking their place, he would rise to the occasion with strength and humility. He had been blessed not to die, and so he would do his best to make sure others, for however brief, could experience not dying alongside him. 

* * *

Nicolo did not know what to do anymore. He went through the motions of fighting, sleeping, fighting over and over and over. The only time he felt truly alive was when he saw the man from his dreams. And every time they killed each other, his doubt of who he was and what he believed grew and grew. 

He chose to learn Arabic and other languages from the opposite side- as much as he could while pretending to fight day after day. The first time he had something to the other man, he had smiled at the look of shock after asking after his name.

His name was Yusuf, and Nicolo treasured this information. 

During the years of fighting and killing each other, he knew what he must look like. Gaunt and haunted, eyes sharp in a way they never used to be before. He looked as he felt, unsure of who he was or what his life meant. His once complete trust in God was now tenuous, poisoned by what he had seen and done. Every time he saw Yusuf, alive or dying over and over, he saw an opposite of himself. Someone who was sure of himself and his relationship to God. 

He wasn't jealous, he could never be. Yet, each time they met, months or just days since the last, he was more and more reluctant to kill him. Death did not work on either of them, and this continual killing felt the same as all the other empty rituals. 

His one hope is that when this war is over, he will have learned enough language to be able to talk to Yusuf once he finds him. He was certain they would meet again when they were through with this, if not through choice then by the destiny that kept drawing them together over and over.

* * *

Yusuf knew the other man, _Nicolo,_ was changing, was different each time they met. He no longer fought as hard, talked as much, let Yusuf kill him easily over and over. 

He knew what it was, he had seen what happened to people who lost their way. Nicolo was unmoored, was without a solid ground to stand upon. He no longer believed in the war he was to fight, and each time, he believed in himself less and less. 

Sometimes, though he was unsure why, he would pray and ask Allah for guidance. It was one thing to kill men who believed in this war wholeheartedly, another to kill someone unwilling and apathetic who each day got closer and closer to losing his total self. 

Yusuf would not describe himself as strongly connected to this man, despite his dreams saying otherwise, but he knew he felt a sense of camaraderie, understanding. They were connected now, and Yusuf knew that they would meet again after the war. If not naturally, then because Nicolo kept asking him questions about his life, where he came from. Nicolo was also staying closer to him now, the war seeming to be ending soon; he didn't want to be far from Yusuf when it ended, even if it meant more killing of each other. 

All was as Allah blessed, and if Yusuf was supposed to have Nicolo in his life, then it would happen.

* * *

By the time the war ended, Nicolo had spent most of his time dead or dying. He no longer fought with any effort, and let himself be killed over and over, in the vain hope that it meant one less dead, one less innocent person killed one either side. He could no longer tell if he was being altruistic or suicidal. The only time he wanted to be alive was when Yusuf was near. 

He was not there for Jerusalem, thank the Lord. He had been far away, at the edges of the army and past battlefields, that he was not there fighting to take the city. He couldn't- 

Nicolo could barely think about it. The horror stories that had traveled back to him and made him sick, made him lose faith in himself even more. He hadn't known what he was signing up for when he joined, and knew in his heart that that was no excuse for what had happened, for what he had unknowingly contributed to. Paying for his actions by dying was not an option, and yet the small, vain hope that maybe death would just _stick_ this time, never went away.

It had been weeks since he left the last vestiges of the army, since he dropped everything he had in the middle of nowhere and stumbled away, and he had been slowly making his way through cities in hopes of finding Yusuf. 

He had picked up enough Arabic, and was now able to listen to those around him and keep up with the news. He had found a pair of old, worn out clothes early on, after the many looks he got for his bloodied rags. It was not uncommon to see people closer to his skin color walking around, but he still kept to the back streets and alleys to be safe. Not because he was afraid to die (he deserved it), but because he might miss Yusuf if he died. 

Though he had tried to stop himself early on, his daily walks soon became filled with thoughts of the war, God, and who he was (when he wasn't thinking about Yusuf). He felt tainted by the war, as if people could look at him and see what he's done, how many he's killed for a cause he didn't think to question until it was too late. 

How he have been so wrong? He had thought he knew what belief was, thought he was confident in his religion and what it meant to him. 

He was wrong. 

Now, he was just a poor fool stumbling around in the hopes of seeing someone that might not even think him a friend. Nicolo had deserved worse than the many quick deaths Yusuf had given him, more than the deaths he accepted in the place of others. 

Things weren't horrible, he got small enjoyment from watching kids play in the streets, seeing families healthy and whole, seeing the life blooming around him. If nothing else, the life around him continuing made him less hopeless that the war had destroyed things completely. 

* * *

Yusuf wouldn't admit he was searching for Nicolo, but he kept an eye out in the following weeks and months. He had found a job and a place to rest after the war, along with many other soldiers. He worked at a port, far from the main city of Jerusalem, but close enough that he could easily travel between many cities. 

He had been at the edges of Jerusalem, fighting so many and dying many times. If he had been unsure of his faith, he would have broken. If he hadn't known Nicolo, and known that there were others who also did not want to live this fight, he would have been filled with pain and hatred. As it was, he only felt intense sorrow. For those who had been innocently slayed, for the destruction of such a vibrant city, and for those who fought and died after being deceived about their actions and the war. Those soldiers opposite him were not all bloodthirsty fanatics fighting a God-granted war, yet neither could they be forgiven for their actions. 

Yusuf tried not think about it too much, he tried his best to be thankful for his life and patient with the ways of the world and what he did not understand. He would not say that his days were easy, nor his thoughts, but his job was physically demanding and grounded him in the present. Everyday, his mind turned over his new inability to die, Nicolo's inability to die, and what might happen next. 

When he offered his daily prayers, he continued to make du’a to ask for forgiveness, and pray salat-ul-istikharah for guidance. Forgiveness for what he had done in the war and guidance on what to do next. His nightmares of the war kept him awake most nights, but it was common to walk in early dawn and see others who had returned from war awake as well.

With such a blessing of immortality, he knew it had occurred for a reason. Yusuf had already started to practice good deeds, to be the best person he could be. The money he made at the docks, he put towards his own needs and gave the rest to charity and those struggling. He did not miss prayers to Allah, and it helped that society was organized around this. When possible, he tried to help his fellow men and neighborhood. 

And yet, he felt that he was not doing enough. Men without his immortality could and did the same as he, was he meant to do even more? That which the average person could not?

For many months, he waited for the chance to see Nicolo again, to see if he had any ideas of what to do with their blessings. Yet, he could not seem to find him.

* * *

Nicolo had died for the tenth time (excluding deaths due to Yusuf and the war) in a hot and dark alley, his body succumbing to his starvation. He did not have the means to eat, nor the ability to rest. Each time he woke up gasping, he would continue his journey of searching towns for Yusuf, die of starvation, dehydration, or killings by people who could tell he had been on the other side of the war (it must be the empty look in his eyes). And then he would get up again, and do it all over. 

He had just opened his eyes in the alley, body aching and weak, and he felt no compulsion to even get up this time. The more and more he died, the less he wanted to wake up again. Even the hope of meeting Yusuf again, knowing that one familiarity in life, was growing weaker by the months. He had hoped that God would lead him to Yusuf, as had been common in the war. Maybe it was because he doubted God? Because he barely believed in a God anymore?

Suddenly, a cat jumped onto his chest and licked his face happily, while he laid under it with acceptance and a dim smile. At least a cat was happy to see him. 

"Ajmal!" Someone called out, causing the cat to turn its head. "Ajmal!"

Nicolo tried to look, but his position sprawled on the ground made it impossible. He was watching Ajmal (he presumed) lick him when he heard a gasp. He looked up into the face of an older woman, her eyes kind and stance confident. 

"As-salamu alaikum," he croaked. 

"Wa alaikum." She eyed him and continued in the bastardized language Franks (and traders, merchants, sailors) used that was only defined as 'the frank language'. "Are you a Frank?"

"I am no one." He coughed, jostling Ajmal.

"Ajmal," she waved to the cat before pointing behind her. Ajmal jumped off and dashed away. She continued to look him over, taking in his dirty clothes, the alley debris, and his many blood stains. "All are blessed by Allah, all that exists is blessed by Allah. Come," she stepped back. "We will see my husband."

Nicolo barely had the energy to stand up, much less question her. Though he was not from here, he knew this was highly unusual behavior. Yet, she seemed someone not to be argued with. He slowly shuffled after her to a side door down the alley way, all the time keeping a respectful distance in case she changed her mind.

"Lutfi!" She called as they walked in, having him take his shoes off at the door. "We have a guest!"

"Salma," a deep voice called from somewhere in the house. "Please stop bringing guests to the house, albi. The neighbors and men have talked with me many times about this." An older man walked in, his eyes looking between Nicolo and Salma. "Why didn't you come get me first? If I am with you it is better." 

Salma scoffed and came to stand by her husband. "I do not need you all the time."

"I know," he said kindly. "But you will get in trouble." 

"What I do is between you and Allah, hayati." 

"I know." He looked away from Salma. Nicolo was leaning heavily against a wall, his eyes shut with exhaustion. "Who is this?"

"He is a man in need of guidance, he has lost his way." 

"Salma," Lufti sighed but made no further comment. He walked up to Nicolo, who blearily opened his eyes. "What is your name?"

"I do not deserve one."

The gentleman smiled softly. "Then what shall we call you? Will you permit this to us?"

Nicolo took in the man's gentle eyes, the understanding and care aimed at him. Over his shoulder, Salma was looking at him gently, waiting patiently for his decision. How many strangers have they brought into their home with such openness? The familiarity in their roles and actions indicated that it must be many, must have begun many many years ago. 

"Jude." 

"Well met, Jude." Lutfi turned and beckoned Nicolo to follow him and Salma into the kitchen, where they sat at a table. Nicolo collapsed into his seat, already feeling how close he was yet again to death. He did not want to die in their house, did not want to scare and trouble Salma and Lutfi. These people didn't need more trouble from him. He still had no idea why they had taken him in. 

A small serving of flattened bread and water was placed in front of him, Salma smiling gently at him. Food that was easily digestible. Once he began taking small bites, Salma and Lutfi began to eat their own meals of regular food. He began to feel a bit better as he ate, his body desperate for any energy it could get after months of almost nothing while he died over and over again. 

"Jude," Salma began. "It is difficult to move in life when you have lost your way, is it not?"

Nicolo looked down at the table before whispering. "Yes."

"Yet, everyone has been lost at one point or another. Life without loss and confusion takes away our need to find inner strength. Had I not lost my son, I would not know the strength and love I have inside myself, I would not know what it truly means to live my life alongside Allah."

"Salma-" Lutfi placed his hand on hers. 

"It is true, and it is the past." She turned back to Nicolo. "I do not wish such pain upon anyone, Allah forbid. But all people become lost in their lives, in many different ways. I'm sure you must know this?"

Nicolo could only nod, ensnared by her voice. He had finished his food, and was solely focused on Salma and her words. Words that comforted him even as he wanted to argue that he did not deserve such kindness. What she had lost and how she became lost was so different from his situation. To lose a child was not the same as to have killed many many people for ignoble reasons. It is possible that _he_ had killed their son, slain him on the battlefield without a single thought. 

"Jude." Salma tapped the table in front of him. "None of that. I can see what you are thinking: that you are not worthy of finding yourself again, that you must stay lost for the rest of your life." 

Again, he could only nod in the face of such certainty and strength. What did he know compared to her? She was confident where he was uncertain, she was strong where he was tenuous. He was everything she was not, and yet she insisted he deserved to find himself. 

"I am not sure," he said hesitantly.

"It does not matter. It is not you who judges your actions and life, but Allah. It is not you who chooses to be loved, but those around you choose to love you. Jude, I do not know you, and yet I love you regardless. I do not need to know what you have done or not done; I see a reflection of myself in you. We are all one, as Allah blesses us to be."

Wiping the tears from his face, Nicolo gave a tremulous smile. "Thank you. Thank you both."

* * *

It was now over a year since the end of the war, and still, Yusuf had not seen Nicolo. No, he had not been traveling city to city to find him, but he was still looking and listening to see if anyone had interacted with Nicolo. 

As his want to see Nicolo again grew, he was still uncertain how he felt about the man. Towards the end of the fighting, he could tell Nicolo did not want to be there, had watched many times as Nicolo stepped in front of any blade without hesitation. This was not the bright eyed man from his dreams who smiled at people and believed in peace. No, this man was empty and hurt. 

In the beginning, Yusuf had hated Nicolo and all that he stood for, the violence and hate directed towards him and his people based on their religion and beliefs. He did not hate Nicolo as an individual person or as a Christian, but as a part of the destruction and violence brought upon them. 

And yet, he had known then what he knew now.

Revenge was never the answer. Yes, he and his people could fight back against them, could protect themselves and their culture from destruction, but no further. To fight against religious persecution was necessary and permitted by Allah, as protection of any religion must be upheld. This was not revenge, as in revenge, they would become those who have erred. No, forgiveness was the only option. 

He did not forgive what actions had happened or the violent beliefs people held, but he forgave the people themselves. All people are one, and though they may lose their way, they have the opportunity to find themselves again. No, he does not let his hate stop him from being just and forgiving. 

He did not hate Nicolo, nor did he pity the man. It was not in his hands to decide what Nicolo's life would become. He was connected to the man who was immortal, and hoped that Nicolo would find himself and the empathy needed to live a meaningful life. Yusuf hoped that would be the outcome.

Until then, he would continue his life in the port side city, and Nicolo would come when it was his time to arrive. All was as Allah blessed.

* * *

Nicolo left Salma and Lutfi a few weeks after he had arrived. He had grown stronger during this time from daily meals, walks around the city, and helping with chores and projects. He learned more Arabic, and he had frequent discussions with Salma and Lutfi over meals and after. He no longer felt as insecure and uncertain about his right to live and who he was. He was by no means confident or even assured, but Salma seemed to know exactly what he needed to hear. His walks around the city were filled with thoughts and people watching, which led him to finding small parts of himself again. He remembered that seeing kids, families, and people happy was what made him most joyful in life. Being able to experience the outdoors and sunshine was calming and grounding to him. He remembered his love of learning, and eagerly soaked up languages around him. 

Though he was by no means complete, he finally felt stable. He thanked Salma and Lutfi over and over as they gave him a bag of food for his travels. Though he was leaving, they would be in his heart forever. They had taken him when he was at the worst and had given him the option of choosing to live again. They had seen a stranger in need and opened their home and hearts to him. He wished there was more he could do, and yet they repeatedly assured him that allowing them into his life had been enough. 

With tears in his eyes, he had left their home with a small bag of food and clothes and directions to the nearby town where many returned soldiers worked. With the hope that Yusuf was in or nearby this town, he made his way there by foot. 

* * *

Yusuf had stopped measuring the time since the end of the war and the last time he saw Nicolo. They would meet again, and he believed this. 

He had gone to work this morning, and been greeted by the other dock workers. Though he wouldn't describe them as his friends, they were friendly acquaintances who understood one another. They worked from morning to evening together, chatted at times, and helped each other when needed. 

Each day, Yusuf took his lunch to a nearby courtyard that had lemon trees and a view of the sea and busy waterfront. He would sit in the shade and enjoy the peace and activity around him. After all he had been through, he liked to sit privately with his thoughts and musings. 

He had picked up sketching after the war, much to his surprise. Understandably, he was nervous at first (and still was at times), as the rules around creating images varied in cultural groups and people. He had begun with sketching the landscape, nature around him, his lemon tree he sat under each day. This was permitted by Allah, he knew for sure, and he became comfortable and adept at being able to capture the world around him. 

It took him many months of thinking and talking with scholars and leaders to untangle his thoughts and determine how they played into his faith. Some said that to draw anything with a soul, a living being, or the essence of being alive was to imitate the creations of Allah, and would lead to punishment. Others said that the reasons such art was prohibited was because it could lead to idolatry and turning away from Allah. 

It was difficult to learn, comprehend, and integrate these ideas with his beliefs. He was no religious scholar, but had an education and the drive to learn and ponder anything that interested him. Days, weeks, and months passed where he would turn over ideas in his head while hauling crates at work, before falling asleep at night, and when walking around the city. Sometimes he would put down his sketchbook for days and weeks, other times he would carry it with him and sketch multiple times a day. 

Eventually, after much time and many prayers for guidance, he came to his conclusion and answer. 

Drawing, sketching, and the creations of images was to be carefully done and understood. His sketching was not guided by the need to capture life or a soul, but instead the objective observance of his surroundings. He was not attempting to capture such things, as only Allah could create such life. His drawings would be no different from those of nature around him, a recollection of a moment in time made tangible. He would not turn away from Allah and worship false idols, and his drawings would never lead to such things. 

He trusted and believed that Allah knows best and is always near, and will know his actions and intentions, as well as his complete faith and humility in His presence. 

* * *

It was a bright, sunny day, and Yusuf was walking to the courtyard where he usually ate lunch when he spotted him. 

Nicolo.

He would recognize that man anywhere.

Nicolo was sitting against the courtyard gates, head tipped back and eyes closed. Sunlight lit up his features, and Yusuf could see the many freckles he had acquired. It was startling, not because Yusuf hadn't expected to ever see him again, but because he looked much better than the last time he had seen him. He was no longer gaunt, empty eyed, or covered in layers of his own blood. In fact, he looked almost at peace, an expression Yusuf had never seen on him before except for in his dreams. The man before him seemed less broken, possibly still fractured, but healing. 

"Hello, Yusuf," Nicolo said in Arabic, not opening his eyes. Yusuf approached and stopped in front of him. 

"Nicolo." Yusuf could only watch as Nicolo opened his eyes and smiled gently. The sight of his green eyes was just as mesmerizing as always, and his smile equally as captivating. "How are you?"

Nicolo quirked his lips and looked away. "As well as I can be. And you?"

"I am content." He gestured into the garden. "Would you like to join me?"

Nicolo hesitated. "I did not bring food with me."

"Then we can share."

"Are you certain? I was unsure you would want to see me again." He eyed Yusuf cautiously as they sat below the lemon tree. 

"I knew we would meet again." Yusuf handed him half of his flat bread. "At the beginning, I was not ready to see you again. We both needed to discover who we were after the war, separate from the other. I had to come to terms with having fought and killed you many times." He turned to Nicolo. "You are not the enemy you once were."

Nicolo closed his eyes. "Are you certain of that?"

"Do you plan to kill me? Hurt me?" Yusuf asked calmly.

Nicolo's eyes flew open in shock. "No! Of course not, I would never hurt you again." His voice trembled. "I never want to hurt anyone again, I-- not if I can help it." 

"Then," Yusuf shrugged, "you are a good man. You regret your actions and are making amends. You are fallible, as all men are. But, unlike all men, you are changing. I admire this."

They sat in silence for many minutes, Yusuf calmly sharing his lunch as Nicolo mulled over his words. Yusuf watched the people walk by and the waves break against the shore. It was a nice day, and the worry about not seeing Nicolo again had begun to unwind in his chest. He felt lighter. Though he knew this was only the first step in coming to know the man, it felt right to sit here beside him in peace. It felt natural, like a familiar reunion. Yusuf didn't know how long they sat in silence before Nicolo spoke. 

"You are very sentimental." 

Yusuf laughed quietly. "No, I'm just a pragmatic Muslim."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up soon! I appreciate any comment, kudos given! I really want more religious!Yusuf !!!


	3. My Home is With You, Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done!!!! I did it! This chapter is so fluffy and tooth-rotting and filled with loving monologues you will cry your eyes out.   
> I could not have done any of this without the support of my friends in the discord! I also could not have done this without the AMAZING Humii!!!!! Thank you so much! <3

Over the next few months, Nicolo would meet Yusuf at the courtyard everyday for lunch together. At first, it had just been meeting for lunch, talking, teaching each other different languages. Some days they would just sit in silence. Yusuf could recognize those days by the haunted look in Nicolo's eyes. Nicolo was grateful that Yusuf would sit next to him, silently offering support and companionship. Those days were hard for Nicolo, he had no desire to move, to go outside, to do anything. It was only the knowledge that Yusuf was waiting for him that spurred him on. 

Some days it was Yusuf who needed the silence. Who wouldn't talk to Nicolo or share his thoughts, but would hold his hand while they ate. Nicolo did not like those days, but was gratified that he could help Yusuf. He was no longer filled with guilt that tainted his every thought, and recognized that he had many opportunities to do good. And a good starting point was being there for Yusuf in return. 

When not having lunch with Yusuf, Nicolo would wander the city and help people however he could. Though it was not a large city, he came to be recognized as someone always ready to be of service. He would fix carts, help carry bags and crates, help someone walk to their seat, repair a roof, keep score for kids' games, and more. He would always refuse payment, but people had figured out that he would always accept a meal and conversation. He slept in the back room of a store that he would set up in the early mornings, and could usually be found there or wandering around. It was freeing and fulfilling to feel like a part of the city, knowing that his actions could be for good. He did not choose to do this because he hoped it would be redemption from his past actions, but because helping people and doing good was inherently him. 

It was another day under the lemon tree with Yusuf, and Nicolo was in the middle of fondly recounting the latest kids game he had presided over. The kids had found him and immediately swarmed him and pleaded for him to watch them, he was the 'only adult who knew _all_ the rules, please?' and he had let them guide him to their spot while jokingly complaining and smiling. It had been one team against another, made up of about eight kids per side, aged from four to ten. The game was kick-the-ball based, and the kids had been adding more and more absurd rules over summer, requiring many updates for Nicolo. The game had gone on until he had needed to leave for lunch with Yusuf, and he had had to extricate himself from the tied game with promises to watch their next game later in the week. 

"Samir has gotten better at kicking, he can hit it almost all the time." Nicolo smiled. "And Qadira has stopped tripping as much, though that might have more to do with her choosing to stay in one place, but it means she's not getting as hurt anymore. The kids are really all getting better and comfortable with their growing bodies, it's amazing to watch, Yusuf, truly."

Yusuf did not know if his smile adequately reflected the vast affection he had for the man, did not know if the way he talked showed how endeared he was to such a gentle man. Yet, he had the feeling that Nicolo must know, if only because those same feelings were returned to him in everything Nicolo did. 

"Nicolo," Yusuf said during a pause in the conversation, "would you like to walk around the city with me this evening, after work?"

"Are you sure?" Nicolo's brow crinkled. "We have not done that before."

"We have not done many things before," Yusuf joked. "We have known each other for over a year, and talk daily. Why not continue talking and spending time together outside of our lunches?" 

"I was unsure-" Nicolo knew he was still nervous about what was acceptable. Yusuf had forgiven him; they were friends and connected with each other. But they were also from different cultures. Even though Nicolo had been learning more and more each passing week, he was uncertain what certain actions meant in society and for Yusuf personally. He was confident in his ability to learn and when he erred, people would gently correct him. It's just that Yusuf was important to him, and Nicolo became timid when confronted with the idea of messing up. 

"Nicolo." Yusuf interrupted his thoughts. "I trust you. Do you trust me?"

"Completely." Nicolo didn't even hesitate. 

"Then it will be fine," Yusuf said simply. "I want this." 

Nicolo smiled at Yusuf and nodded. "I do too." 

* * *

Walks after work became standard, and soon did walks before work. Any topic of conversation was open to them, and Nicolo soon learned that Yusuf had gone to university, and was a true scholar at heart. They explored restaurants and food stalls together, always trying new foods and looking for ones they both loved. They began to try new recipes during lunches, one of them excitedly bringing new food they had made to sample and debate about. 

Their days became filled with each other and languages. Nicolo had become almost fluent in Arabic, his frequent conversations with people in the city and living in a new place had taught him much. As Nicolo was teaching Genoese to Yusuf, Yusuf was teaching him Persian. Only one language could be spoken all day, they decided, and it was both difficult and entertaining, learning and teaching at the same time. Some days, they decided to pick languages neither of them knew. They would wander the markets and ports to learn phrases and accents, choosing whichever sounded the most interesting. It was the most difficult, but also the most rewarding. Both of them would start in the same place, not knowing the language, and would then have to discover and comprehend snatched conversations and writings. 

One day, they had chosen to converse only in Persian, and were walking along the coast in the late evening, enjoying the breeze and stars coming out. They had just come from sunset prayers, Nicolo waiting outside while Yusuf had been inside. After praying, Yusuf was always more contemplative and grounded, and they each happily kept to their own thoughts, content with being at each other's sides. 

They had reached the coast and had been walking for almost an hour. Nicolo was content to let his thoughts ebb and flow, nothing in the forefront of his mind for long. His main focus was on Yusuf, and admiring the way he looked, his wind tousled hair, soft smile, and the way the light made him seem to glow. Yusuf, in turn, was watching the waves and sun, turning back to Nicolo occasionally with a smile. 

"Yusuf," Nicolo stopped walking to look out at the sea. "If there had been no war, what would you have done?" 

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean what would I be doing instead right now?"

"Yes, who would you have become?"

Yusuf was quiet for a while, and Nicolo could tell he was carefully choosing his words. 

"Do you think we would truly be so different?" 

"For not knowing you," Nicolo looked directly at him, "I would not be who I am today." 

Yusuf was quiet again, eyes roving over Nicolo's face as he thought. 

"I think, that had there been no war, we would have met regardless. That, somehow, we would end up together, despite everything."

Nicolo smiled. "You mean fate?"

Yusuf shook his head, looking back at the sea. "No... I mean Destiny."

* * *

Months passed, and Nicolo would never have guessed that this would be his life after the war. He happily spent his days with Yusuf in the mornings and evenings, continued to wander the city and help anyone who asked, and reflected on just how far they had both come since their first meeting. How far _he_ had come since their first meeting. 

Never had he entertained the thought that he would feel at peace in life and in discontinuing his religion in all but name. He still believed in the Lord, but what he had seen of Christianity in his life left a bad taste in his mouth that could never be washed out. He wanted to find and contemplate what it really meant for him. Talks about religion became habit between him and Yusuf. 

"You know," Yusuf joked one day after finishing his prayers and joining Nicolo outside. "You could always just ask me your questions instead of pretending to have none while side-eyeing me." 

Nicolo laughed a bit. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Maybe I just like to look at you."

"I bet you do," Yusuf winked. "But there's no reason you can't do both at the same time." 

Smiling sheepishly, Nicolo started walking. Yusuf followed and waited for Nicolo to organize his thoughts. They had gotten comfortable with the other, any questions or slights were not malicious, but understandable curiosity. And while most topics were always open for interrogation and teaching, Nicolo avoided the topic of religion with careful determination. 

"Do you ever feel that you will never truly be clean of your sins?" Nicolo didn't look at him. 

"I'm not sure I understand?"

Nicolo was quiet again, and they continued to walk around the city slowly. Yusuf didn't push Nicolo to talk about what was on his mind. If he didn't want to talk about religion, that was fine. Yusuf knew he was soaking up any information he could get, was learning about Islam and respecting Yusuf's continued relationship with it. Though Nicolo never asked, Yusuf would often explain what he was doing and why. Early on, he had explained the daily prayers and the call to prayer, Nicolo following and waiting calmly outside with his own thoughts. The food they ate and made each other was halal, Nicolo intrigued and eager to learn more when they first started cooking for each other. Though Nicolo avoided all conversation of religion, it did not mean it was not a part of their lives. 

"I'm not sure I do either."

* * *

Nicolo had not meant to say his thoughts out loud. It had just slipped out when Yusuf had exited the mosque. He had looked calm and content, refreshed. Nicolo could barely understand. 

When he came out of confession, Nicolo always felt relieved and even more guilty than before. He was forgiven his sins by a priest, a religious man doing the Lord's work. And he had believed that to be all he needed to be forgiven his sins. Then he saw the war. 

How could him confessing what he had done to a priest be all that was needed to forgive his sins? How could the Pope say that the war itself forgave his sins? It didn't feel like he had been forgiven. He felt detached from it all. His people feared God, and yet a confession of the atrocities he had done in the war was forgiven the same way his confessions of lust or anger was before the war? 

And Yusuf, Yusuf and his religion, did not have these same thoughts dragging him down each day? Yusuf went to pray multiple times a day, followed rules that were not due to fear, but because of devotion and love to their God. Yes, they had sins as well, but it seemed to Nicolo, that their God was Compassionate and All-Forgiving. Yusuf was a good person. Nicolo wasn't so sure about himself. 

The words had slipped out earlier, his question about sin said before he had the chance to stuff it back in his heart to not speak aloud ever again. It was just that he felt he could talk about these things, process them and if he wanted to tell Yusuf about them, he could. He could tell Yusuf anything. Yusuf carried safety and understanding with him at all times, and Nicolo basked in it.

* * *

It was common to find them sitting next to each other, wandering around, and holding hands when ever they could. After people had figured out that Nicolo would submit to accepting food in return for helping people, it became the norm that he would be gifted two servings and well wishes to pass along to Yusuf. 

On one of the days Yusuf had off work, he was to meet Nicolo for dinner. He had spent most of his day walking around, reading in the libraries, and talking with people in the market. It was nice, and he enjoyed his adventures and conversations greatly. Though many thought them inseparable, Yusuf and Nicolo still appreciated their times apart, time alone to reflect and use how they wished. It had been nice that day, and Yusuf was excited to tell Nicolo about his time wandering the city.

After he had asked around the neighborhood, he was directed to the last place people had see Nicolo, helping a family with a newborn replace their windows. As he approached unnoticed, he could see the parents and Nicolo chatting on the doorstep.

"Nicolo," said Atefeh, the new mother, and she held out a bundle of food with a smile. "Thank you again for your help, we really appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure," Nicolo smiled, taking the bundle. "I am always glad to help where I can. Knowing that your home is perfect for your child is a purpose I am privileged to have helped with." 

"You are kind," Atefeh's husband, Kalil, said. "Please give our regards to Yusuf. We heard that he had helped you in your translating of documents from some of the new ships."

Yusuf had barely opened his mouth to announce his presence before Nicolo was reaching a hand back to him without turning around. He was pulled forward. 

"You can tell him personally," Nicolo smiled. Yusuf was not surprised that Nicolo had known he was there, Nicolo seemed to always know when he was nearby. He smiled at the shocked looks on Atefeh and Kalil's faces. 

"Many thanks. I was glad to have helped." He nodded. "May Allah bless you and your child."

Atefeh and Kalil smiled and nodded back. "And you."

Nicolo and Yusuf smiled once again before taking their leave, hands still clasped as they walked down the road. 

* * *

Nicolo was sitting next to Yusuf under the lemon tree, reading a book of Arabic poetry in the afternoon sun. Yusuf was quietly sketching the buildings around him, enjoying the play of shadows and sun on the walls and ground. It was a calm that made them feel alone and separate from the rest of the world. 

Looking up from his book, Nicolo took in the sight of Yusuf focusing intently on his sketchbook, tongue stuck out in concentration and eyes bright. The sun warmed his skin, urging Nicolo to reach out and touch, feel that same warmth. 

These feelings were not new, Nicolo knew. Yes, he had felt drawn to Yusuf ever since he had dreamed of him on the battle field, but he had only realized that the same desire to find Yusuf was now the desire to be near him and touch him. They held hands, leaned on shoulders, laughed with arms around shoulders, and more. Yet Nicolo wanted more, wanted to be able to hold Yusuf in his arms, run his hands through his hair and beard, and run his fingers over his lips. 

He wanted Yusuf, and wanted him more than friends might. 

This made him nervous, only because he was unsure what Yusuf felt. Relations between men were common, even though people did not talk about it in public. Poetry, including the book he was reading now, featured romantic and sexual relationships between men. People here had relationships between men, you just did not mention it because it was not your business. The same had been true back in his land. It was not his feelings that made him nervous, but the idea that Yusuf might not return them.

He set his book down on the grass beside him and put his hand on Yusuf's arm. Yusuf looked up at him, and must have seen something serious in his gaze, because he set his sketchbook down and turned to him fully.

"Nicolo?"

Nicolo could not get the words out. He could do nothing but slowly move his hand up Yusuf's arm, following the path with his eyes. Yusuf said nothing, just calmly watched him. 

Nicolo continued his path up Yusuf's arm, hand trailing up his shoulder and neck to rest on his sun-warmed cheek. Yusuf tilted into his hand, still looking calmly at him. Nicolo could scarcely breathe with how it felt to be touching Yusuf, to feel the scratch of his beard, his warm skin, how the corner of his lips felt against his thumb. Everything seemed heightened and yet solid beneath his hand. 

"Nicolo?"

He looked away from his hand to Yusuf's eyes. He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Yusuf smiled softly. "Is there something you want to tell me?" 

"Yusuf- I..." He trailed off. 

"Azizti." Yusuf kissed the palm of his hand. "Darling, are you trying to tell me something?" 

Nicolo could only nod. His words had fled the moment he had touched Yusuf, the moment their skin met and he had become entranced with the feeling. Yusuf calling him pet names only made him more flustered, elated and transfixed that Yusuf seemed to return his feelings. 

Yusuf smiled at him as he laid his hand against Nicolo's neck. "Is this what you want? You want more between us?"

His voice was hoarse when he replied, barely more than a whisper. "Yes, Yusuf, please. I want this." 

He wanted this more than he could say, more than he could ever describe. It would take longer than their lifetimes to talk about what Yusuf meant to him, what he wanted his life to be with Yusuf. He could tell that Yusuf was similarly affected, attention flitting between his lips and his eyes. The same need reflected back between them, slowly burning from inside. Nicolo felt heady with it. 

Yusuf leaned his head against Nicolo's, lips barely touching, every breath shared. Yusuf had closed his eyes. "We'll have to talk about this, you understand?" 

"Later," Nicolo insisted. "Anything you want." 

Yusuf laughed. "Eager, are we?" 

"Are you not?" 

Nicolo could feel Yusuf's answering huff against his lips, a foreshadowing and temptation wrapped in one. "I am, I needed to make sure."

"I am, I promise. I've wanted you so long, Yusuf. Please." He couldn't handle how close they were, how each word brushed so close to his lips, lips aching for a kiss, for Yusuf's touch. Anything to sate the fire burning within him. 

"Habibi," Yusuf's voice caught. Words had left him, only Nicolo filled his thoughts. The feel of him under his hand, the feel of him cradling his face, his breaths over his lips, so tantalizingly close. Everything he wanted. 

If asked, Nicolo wouldn't have been able to say who started the kiss, only that he had never felt more complete than in that moment. Yusuf's lips were soft against his, and oh so gently kissing him. He felt complete, he felt cared for, he felt adored. If he could kiss Yusuf for the rest of their days, he would be the happiest man on earth. 

Kisses turned into small presses of lips, grazes filled with immense care and love. Both Yusuf and Nicolo were trembling softly by the end, dazed and content. 

Nicolo opened his eyes to see Yusuf already looking at him softly. 

"Hayati, you have made me happier than you could ever imagine. The world was never dim and dull, and yet you brighten my life in such ways that I could never go back. We have not had many years together, and yet I know you as I know myself." He brushed fingers against Nicolo's cheek. 

"Yusuf," Nicolo's voice cracked. "You are my sun, you light my way and remind me that the world is beautiful when I am downtrodden. Your faith reminds me that I can do good and help people. You are the kindness that shines brighter than any star." 

Yusuf huffed a laugh. "It is _you_ who is kind in this world. Did you think spending your days helping neighbors, playing with the kids, and chatting with everyone was going unnoticed? I know you cannot see it, but you are just as kind, if not more. I am forever happy to be by your side." 

Nicolo could barely breathe past his smile and the tight feeling in his chest. He had not been looking for assurance, and yet Yusuf knew exactly what to say to stop him doubting himself. He helped people because he could not see doing anything else in his life, and did not expect to be noticed for what was inherent to him. That Yusuf had noticed and recognized how important it was to him made him fall even more. 

"I do not need recognition. You make me feel seen for who I truly am, and that is all I need. Yusuf, it is soon, I understand, and yet I must tell you that I love you more than I can ever say. I love you more than I thought possible to love in this world, more than I thought I would be graced to feel in my life, more than I could ever say to you." He smiled softly. "Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, I love you beyond measure." 

Tears had gathered in Yusuf's eyes and were slowly running down his face, past his wide smile. "Nicolo de Genova, what is to soon when time no longer applies to us? Time will not change the way I feel for you, except to make my love even stronger. I have loved you before I knew it was love, before I had truly met you. Nicolo, you are my everything and more." 

* * *

When Yusuf had first asked Nicolo to move in with him, Nicolo's love had grown even more. Over the next week, Nicolo had said his goodbyes to the shop owner where he slept and worked, who was glad Nicolo had found his own place, as he was soon to give the shop to his son and his family. 

The evening of their first night found them both awkwardly standing around in the bedroom.

"Well," Yusuf started, "I suppose I ought to explain my nightly rituals. Many are based in religion, I'm sorry." 

"You know I don't have a problem with your religion and actions, Yusuf. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I will do my best to follow." 

"You are too good to me, habibi."

Nicolo cupped Yusuf's cheek. "There is no such thing as 'too good' for you, dear." 

"Such a sweet talker." Yusuf winked as he stepped back. "If we start kissing now, I will get even more distracted than I am now."

Nicolo couldn't help his laugh. "By all means then, go ahead." 

Yusuf and Nicolo sat on floor cushions as Yusuf began to talk. He told Nicolo about performing wudhu before bed, brushing his teeth, cleaning the bed, and performing his nightly prayers. He detailed the need to cover and store all food and drinks, lock the doors and windows, and extinguish the lamps. Yusuf was glad that Nicolo nodded throughout and didn't raise any objections, even when Yusuf mentioned not having conversations after his nightly prayers. At the end of his explanations, Nicolo mulled everything over.

"Would you like me to follow these steps as well?" 

Yusuf almost gaped at the easy going nature in which Nicolo had asked the question. "No, not all of them! Of course not, that would be unfair. No, um, if you're comfortable performing wudhu or similar, helping ready the apartment, and waiting until I finish my prayers to sleep, I would be very grateful." 

"Of course, Yusuf. There is little I wouldn't do to make you happy, especially around something so important as this." 

Yusuf could scarcely believe the sweet man in front of him, oh so different from the man he had first met. They had both changed so much since the war, and Yusuf had the feeling that meeting each other played a large part. He touched Nicolo's cheek. 

"Nicolo, _hayati_ , I am forever blessed to have you in my life." 

"As am I," Nicolo said softly. "As am I."

* * *

Nicolo wouldn't say they were sad at times, but it became more and more apparent they would have to move on soon. The kids that he had played with and watched over had grown up. People who knew them both always joked about how they never look a day over 30, and Yusuf would joke back about how they sure _felt_ older than that, and had just been gifted such young looks. 

More and more time became dedicated to discussing their wants and dreams, what immortality meant, and what their relationship would look like. 

"We have stayed in this village so we could find ourselves, to feel grounded in our new selves. It is not shameful to have stayed so long." Nicolo assured one evening. 

"I don't regret it," Yusuf was quick to say. "We both needed this, we needed to heal and learn each other and discover what our lives would like together. Yet..."

Nicolo waited. 

"...yet, I am nervous. I did not truly expect to survive the war, nor did I expect to meet someone like you. This town is our first home, nothing will replace it." 

Nicolo hummed in thought. His eyes swept of Yusuf, taking in the comfortable clothes he as wearing, his laid back posture on their floor cushions in the apartment, and the look of guarded hesitation on his face. 

"Moving somewhere else will not replace this. Just as the love for a mother is never truly gone, it is in all mothers we meet." The image of Salma and Lutfi came to him, and he smiled and blinked back tears, knowing they had to have passed many years ago. "This will be our first home, and yet it will be in every home we make, in small things we recognize and people we see in the corners of our eyes." 

Yusuf blinked back his own tears. "You will always be my home as well, Nicolo. You know this, yes? I will always have my home with you, in the brightness of your eyes, the warmth of your smile, and the calm in your being." 

"You poet," Nicolo choked out, grabbing Yusuf's hand. "Of course I know. It is the same for me, no matter how far I wander, how lost I become, you are there in my thoughts, leading me home to you." 

The kiss they shared felt as serene and loving as their words were. Gentle presses of lips and hands felt almost too good to handle. All thoughts left them, and Yusuf could barely tell when Nicolo had moved into his lap, but he wasn't complaining. The warmth and closeness of him was captivating, and he could barely keep his hands to himself. Never had Yusuf kissed someone like this, felt this enthralled and desirous. 

With one last kiss on the lips, Nicolo pulled back and laid his head on Yusuf's shoulder. He gently pressed small kisses there, huffing laughs at Yusuf's shivering. "You know we will have to talk about it, my love." 

Yusuf didn't need to be reminded, not when their leaving was so close. Even being together, losing themselves in kisses and touches, never kept the thought away. Each night, it became stronger and stronger. "Not tonight, please, azizti. Not tonight, not when we are like this." 

Nicolo looked up at him, weighing his next steps. Yusuf waited patiently, watching those green eyes. "Okay, not tonight. Tonight is only for us..."

* * *

Yusuf had been awake since before morning prayer and the sunrise, and was not surprised when Nicolo came to join him on the sea shore, wrapped in layers to protect from the morning chill.

Nicolo sat next to him, brushing the sand and shells away. He unwrapped one of his layers and put in around Yusuf's shoulders in silence. They watched the waves break.

"It's our next step, I know this," Yusuf whispered after a long time. "The dreams are how I found you, my other half, and so we must follow these dreams as well." 

"It doesn't mean we aren't meant to be together," Nicolo said, getting at the heart of the matter. "It doesn't mean we are meant to be with them either. You know they are meant for each other, not us."

"I know." Yusuf ran a hand through his hair. 

"What is truly bothering you?" Nicolo laid a hand on Yusuf's shoulder, gently turning him to see his face. "There is something else."

Yusuf tried to turn away, but Nicolo's grip on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced to the side instead. "I do not want it to be like our first meeting. I don't want them to hate us, to kill us, to spend years fighting like we did." He looked up with glassy eyes. "I don't want to see you die, Nicolo. I've seen it enough times, even though I know we will always come back." 

Pulling Yusuf into a hug, Nicolo gently shushed him. "It is as you say, we have been blessed by Allah. We will die when it is our time, but in the meantime, we must do what we can. If that happens, if they fight us, we will still have each other, you won't have to go through it alone. I will be with you." He leaned back and looked in Yusuf's eyes. "What if they are just as scared as we were when we first became immortal? How could we leave them alone if we could help?" 

Yusuf couldn't help but smile. "Your heart is bigger than you think it is. You are more generous than you give yourself credit for." 

Nicolo laughed. "Why would I need to, when I have you to do it for me?" 

* * *

Over the next few months, they began slowly packing away their lives. What they wanted to keep and journey with was small, what they were slowly gifting and giving to the community kept growing. Nicolo spent many days out of the house with things to give away, talking and helping people as usual. When asked if they were moving, he would just smile and say they were waiting for a sign. 

He and Yusuf believed they would meet when they were supposed to, just as they had. However, they knew they would need to meet them halfway. The dreams of the women, Andromache and Quynh, had only begun recently, and they had put it down to finally being ready to meet new people, people like them. They were not in the same area at all, it was clear, and they would do their best to get closer to them. They knew they wouldn't find them themselves, no, they would be close and would only meet when it was time, when they were guided together. 

Yusuf spent his free time drawing the locations seen in their dreams, things the could be landmarks, plants, people. Andromache and Quynh. His sketchbooks that used to be filled with drawings of the neighborhood and Nicolo became interspersed with drawings of different locations and people he had never met. He would take these drawings to the libraries and universities, searching books and asking scholars if they knew what land these things were from, where they should go to find them. 

It was late afternoon when Nicolo came into the apartment with a large smile. "Did you know that Samir got married? Little Samir, he's all grown up now and married!"

Yusuf smiled indulgently as he set down his book. "Did he now? To whom?"

With a laugh, Nicolo sat down beside Yusuf, kissing his cheek in welcome. "To a woman named Naima from the neighboring city! Kalil and Atefeh told me all about it when I was with them. They said it was a beautiful ceremony, and that Samir did not stop smiling the entire time." 

"I can see that. Weddings are truly beautiful." 

"They are..." Nicolo trailed off. 

Yusuf glanced at him and saw the far off look in his eyes. He leaned into Nicolo's side. "One day, my love, one day." 

Nicolo shook his head and glanced at Yusuf with a strained smile. "I know, habibi." He leaned his head on Yusuf's shoulder.

They sat in silence, watching the sun play with the dust in the air, listening to the sound of far off waves crashing against the shore. Familiar feelings ran through them, feelings they have discussed many times, both in happiness and in soft sadness. Being immortal together was a stronger bond than marriage, and yet they couldn't hide their desire for such a thing. They had spent many years together, watched children grow up, people their age grow and pass away. Time felt both fleeting and infinite to them- and yet the ache to be recognized as married continued. 

Yusuf was drawn out of his thoughts by Nicolo talking.

"We are too old for this city, my love."

Yusuf smiled sadly. "I know. It's almost time." 

"A month?" Nicolo knew Yusuf needed a fixed time to leave, but would never set one himself. 

"A month." Yusuf nodded. "A month and then we begin to make our way North. To the Steppes." 

* * *

Yusuf quit his job; he wanted to spend their last month together doing anything they wanted. Nicolo continued to wander the neighborhood and help, but did so less and less as the end of the month came nearer. Days were spent walking the city together, relaxing on the sea shore, and being intimate at home. 

One morning, after Yusuf had returned from the mosque, he had stood in front of Nicolo and softly asked if they could visit the lemon tree one last time. 

"I was wondering when you would ask," Nicolo smiled, grabbing something from his side and standing up. "I had a feeling it might be today." 

Yusuf looked at his side and saw Nicolo was carrying a bag and water skin, the design on the bag showing it was the one they used to pack lunches. He shook his head. "How did you know? I only just decided on the way back." 

Nicolo kissed his cheek. "I know you, Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani. I knew we would visit one last time, and I woke up with the feeling it would be today. Whether it was fate or Allah is up to you." 

Yusuf could only smile and turn his head to kiss Nicolo properly. How lucky he was to be blessed with such a man in his life, such a man who loved him just as fiercely in return. "Thank you, hayati." 

They made their way to the lemon tree, greeting those who passed them with smiles and familiarity. They turned the corner, and Yusuf paused. The lemon tree had grown over the decades, and now had more lemons than he had ever seen, bright yellow against vibrant green leaves. He hadn't visited this spot as much over the years, his spot of quiet contemplation and early meetings with Nicolo. 

"I always adored this tree," Nicolo said softly from his side. "You looked at home under it, like there was no where else you wanted to be. A sketchbook in your lap, sun shining." He laughed softly. "I was entranced each and every time."

"I found this tree my first month here. It was the peace and quiet I needed after the war, the reminder of simple beauty in the world." He sat down, Nicolo joining him and pulling out the food. "Everything was confusing and new, especially our immortality, and this tree was not. This tree was the same each day, strong and silent. You'll laugh, but when I think about leaving, I wish that I could take this tree with, take this comfort and familiarity with as we leave our home." 

Nicolo put his hand on Yusuf's shoulder. "There's nothing to laugh about. This tree is special to you, and it makes sense that you will miss it when we leave. It has been with you since almost the beginning." 

Yusuf chuckled, looking at Nicolo. "You remember the early days?"

"You mean the war?"

"No, no. I meant the early days here, when we first met properly. You were sitting against the gates here as though you had no where to be. You looked healthier than I had ever seen, dashing in the sunlight." 

"You were even more beautiful than in the war," Nicolo admitted. Yusuf had built up the muscle and fat he had lost in the war by working at the docks, but most importantly, he had the vibrancy and flush of life, of hope and peace. It was something Nicolo had learned to discern in the war and after, the almost invisible look of one closer to death, closer to hopelessness. "I had been in the city for a week before our first meeting." 

"Looking for me?" Yusuf winked, causing Nicolo to snort and bump shoulders.

"Among other things. This city had many ex-soldiers, which is why I came. But, like you I suppose, I became charmed by the city and the sea. I wandered around every day, finding new spots to spend time in, new people to talk with. I followed no path, and yet knew that this would be the city I found you in." 

"And then you did. You didn't even look surprised when I found you, you didn't even open your eyes, you tease." Yusuf laughed and pushed Nicolo.

Nicolo went with the movement, laughing and smiling. When he sat up again, his face was serious, eyes piercing into Yusuf's.

"I would know you anywhere, without looking, without touching." His voice was soft but had a note of steel underneath. "My heart is your heart, we are one soul together. Cuore mio, I will always find you. You are the light that guides me home, the stone that keeps me standing tall. Without you, I linger half-whole, haunted by ghosts of another life. I would know you anywhere." 

"Nicolo..." 

Understanding, Nicolo just opened his arms, letting Yusuf settle into him with arms wrapped tight around his torso. Though Yusuf used his words to show his love most of the time while Nicolo used actions, Nicolo could still amaze him with such declarations, made stronger by Nicolo's honesty and conviction. 

Small kisses peppered his head, comforting him from the almost overwhelming feeling of love and dedication Nicolo's words held. He could happily spend the rest of his days like this, wrapped in Nicolo's arms and soothed by kisses, sitting under the lemon tree with the sound of the sea in the background. If they were to be immortal, he could not think of a better way to spend their lives. 

* * *

The month before their departure ended quickly, and they knew they could no longer stay. They each had a bag packed with the few belongings they were taking, as well as enough food, water, and money to last them through the next three towns. After that, they would work in exchange for food. Though, Yusuf knew Nicolo (and himself, to be honest), and knew that it was more likely that they would do work and help people for free, share their food and water with those less lucky. They would be able to get by, and though Yusuf didn't like to think about it, he knew they had both died many times from dehydration and hunger during the war. 

It was early dawn, and Yusuf had finished his morning prayers for the last time. Nicolo had waited outside with their bags, and Yusuf quietly placed his prayer rug in his before they began to make their quiet goodbyes throughout the town. Atefeh and Kalil, Samir and Naima, the kids who had grown up, the store owner's family, and others. Goodbyes were tinted with tears and many happy blessings. Though people were sad to see them go, they smiled and forced small bundles of food on them. By the end of their goodbyes, both Yusuf and Nicolo's faces were stained with tears and ached from their smiles. 

They left the city hand in hand, walking down the road with the morning sun. The city had become a dot on the horizon behind them when Nicolo broke the silence. 

"I have the feeling this will be the last time we can stay in a place so long. The last time we can say our goodbyes in the light of day." 

Nicolo was grimacing when Yusuf looked over, eyes focused on the road ahead. He didn't want to add to such melancholy thoughts, but he knew in his heart that Nicolo was right. Their lives had been wondrous and simple, had been all that they needed. It felt as if their immortality was part of the background, that their lives maybe weren't too different from everyone else's. Whatever happened next, especially with finding the other immortals, Yusuf knew it would never be the same again, never so simple and relaxed.

"No," he said quietly, "I don't think it will ever be the same." He squeezed Nicolo's hand. "But that does not mean that the other goodbyes are less important, that our other lives will mean less. We are blessed to be able to meet so many people, to /help/ so many people. To see and travel the world, to be together. Our lives may change and look different, but that does not mean they are any less fulfilling." 

Nicolo could only smile at Yusuf's small speech. Yusuf always seemed to know just what he needed to hear, a reassurance that made him want to believe just as Yusuf did. Though their future was unknown and ever-changing, Yusuf's words had a certainty that rang true. 

Nicolo spoke up after a short silence, a small smirk on his face. "What is to happen, will happen?"

Yusuf threw his head back and laughed, and Nicolo had to admire the way the sun lit up his face and hair, made him seem brighter than the sun. 

"Oh please," Yusuf smiled at him. "Do not pretend you don't believe in destiny. I know you, and I know how soft you are. We have had many conversations about destiny, fate, and Allah. You are too philosophical to pretend not to be." 

Nicolo couldn't help but smile back. "Maybe I just wanted to see you smile." 

"You see me smile every day." 

"And I yet I never grow tired of it." Nicolo smiled and pulled Yusuf to the side of the road, kissing his cheek when they came to a stop. He let go of Yusuf's hand, and began rummaging in his pack.

"What are you looking for?" Yusuf tried to look inside the pack.

"It's for you, something to make you smile." 

"You don't have to," Yusuf shook his head, bewildered. "You already make me smile, I just told you. Habibi, I do not need anything more from you." 

"Aha!" Nicolo looked up at Yusuf, hiding what was in his hands behind the pack. "I want to give this to you. It is for the both of us."

Yusuf watched as Nicolo slowly straightened up, revealing a small clay jar in his hands. Yusuf carefully took the jar, feeling the coldness of the clay already warming in the sun. He opened the lid and looked inside.

When he spoke next, his voice was choked with tears. " _Azizti_ , these are lemon seeds-"

"I know you are sad to leave our home," Nicolo said softly, leaning forward to brush the tears from Yusuf's face as he continued gazing at the seeds. "These seeds are from our lemon tree. Anywhere we go, we can plant one. We will leave lemon trees across the land. When we settle, we can watch our lemon tree grow again. Save some seeds from new trees and continue on our travels. Yusuf, amore mio, my sun, we will always have a part of our home with us." 

Yusuf had to close his eyes against his tears, against the warmth and love he felt so strongly. He leaned into Nicolo's hands and was pulled into a tight embrace, Nicolo whispering sweet words in his ears as he tried to calm his breathing. How could Nicolo continue to take his breath away so effortlessly? How could Yusuf feel anything but utterly loved by him? The world felt too small to contain such love. 

He lifter his head from Nicolo's shoulder. One of his hands came up and touched Nicolo's cheek, taking in the adoration plain on his face. Yusuf's eyes fell to his lips, and barely a moment passed before they were kissing. Yusuf could barely focus past the feeling of Nicolo's lips against his, the feeling of arms wrapped tightly around him. His head was dizzy from all the love he felt, the lemon seeds still clutched tightly in his grasp. They kissed both soft and firm, both unwilling to separate until they absolutely had to. 

Yusuf pulled back first, gasping for air as he leant his head against Nicolo's. Nicolo's eyes were still closed, and Yusuf watched as he licked his lips reverently. 

"Habibi," Yusuf said, watching as Nicolo opened his eyes to look at him. He couldn't look away from him. "I love you more than I can say, more than I could press into your skin with kisses. You are everything and more to me." 

"You are my sun, my other half. We would live forever, and yet I could never say all the ways in which I love you. You are all and more." He kissed Yusuf softly before beginning to pull away. They slowly untangled themselves, Nicolo keeping a hand in Yusuf's, and Yusuf holding tightly to the lemon seed jar. 

Yusuf smiled as they began to walk again, enjoying this moment of their lives. Nicolo's hand was warm in his, and his presence by his side soothing. The jar in his hand meant more to him than he could express. Nicolo had brought a piece of their home for him, brought a piece of home that would continue to grow and travel the world just like them. He could not stop smiling. The warm air brushed past them as they continued to walk down the road, and the sun continued to rise in the sky. Soon, they would have to stop when the sun reached the top of the sky. It would be too hot to continue walking uncovered, and midday prayers would begin. Yusuf smiled at the thought that he could plant a lemon seed when they stopped. It was unlikely it would grow out here, with no one to tend to it, but he had hope. If nothing else, they have learned that anything is possible. That home can be found in the most unlikely of places. 

He smiled over at Nicolo. "We have been blessed by Allah, truly blessed to have found one another. I have nothing but what He wills, and yet He has blessed me with everything." 

Nicolo squeezed his hand and couldn't help but smile back. "Yes, we are blessed, amore mio. He has blessed us more than I can ever repay." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or kudos! Tell your friends! Thank you so much for reading!!! I had a fantastic time writing this and learning more about Islam and who Yusuf might have been. I loved it all so much! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 2 & 3 coming soon! Chapter 2 is written, chapter 3 is almost done! Any kudos, comments, or support to finish is deeply and greatly appreciated!!! 
> 
> Title from 'Little Words' by The Happy Fits


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